The loss of a son and brother cost an entire family their lives

On Sept. 21, 1992, Kayrene Matheson went to her brother’s room at Acadia University’s Crowell Tower. He was not there. Allan Kenley Matheson had disappeared, triggering a 20-year nightmare from which his sister and his parents have never truly awakened.

For the family of Allan Kenley Matheson the last 20 years has been a nightmare, as they wonder what happened to the 20-year-old Acadia University student, who went missing from Wolfville in September 1992. (ERIC WYNNE / Staff / File)

Just 13 days into the 1992-93 school year, Acadia University student Allan Kenley Matheson vanished. His disappearance has never been solved.

My second life started on Monday, Sept. 21, 1992.

I last saw Kenley in his dorm room at Crowell Tower on Sunday, Sept. 20, 1992; I didn’t know that would be the last time I saw him. For the next three days my apprehension grew steadily until the shocking realization, on Wednesday night, that he was gone.

My brother, Allan Kenley Matheson, was an adventurer. When he graduated from high school in 1990 he bought a motorcycle and drove it across Canada to Banff, where he worked until the fall.

Over the next two years, Kenley’s desire for adventure led him to plant trees in British Columbia, where he made many friends, to the southern United States on a walk to save the rainforests in South America, then to Guatemala and Belize, back to British Columbia and always, somehow, he ended up back in Cape Breton.

The summer of 1992 followed my graduation from high school, and Kenley and I made plans to head to Acadia University in Wolfville that September. He would major in biology and planned to pursue his passion of helping to save the environment. I intended to major in chemistry.

We shared calculus class together on Tuesday and Thursday mornings and planned to work together to get through it. I did not have a class with him Monday morning but as he was leaving his chemistry class at Elliott Hall I was going into mine.

I did not see him that Monday and our friend Jill, who shared the class with him, did not see him either. (Mental note, “That’s odd”.) Called him that night and left a message.

I went to calculus class on Tuesday morning. He was not there. I went to Crowell Tower and left a note on the door: “Call me immediately. As soon as you walk in the door. Love, Kay.” My mom still has this note.

While I was worried, I was trying not to overreact. After all, he had travelled over two continents and here we are, living in a town of 3,500 with a practically non-existent crime rate.

What is the worst that could happen?

We had arrived at Acadia around Labour Day that year, Sept. 7. We had a few days of student orientation before classes started. Kenley was apprehensive about the frosh activities and anything to do with initiation. Being two years older than most of the other first year students he took the chance to escape the first weekend with some new friends. They went to a place near Lunenburg called Corkum’s Island.

He returned from the South Shore safe and sound on Sunday, Sept. 13.

We went to classes the first full week and saw each other several times. It seemed like a good start. I had to go to Halifax the following weekend and there was a big party at his residence on Saturday night.

Upon my return from Halifax on Sunday, I went to see him around 4 p.m. He was in his room, slightly withdrawn, perhaps due to the festivities the night before. We planned to get together the next night to work on our calculus.

He had only been at Acadia for about 13 days.

A lot of people wonder how we have gotten through this. Those of you who knew Kenley and me know that there was not a brother and sister who were closer.

If this were a movie, you would be seeing my mind flash back to happy memories of our childhood. If someone had told me before this happened how our lives would unfold I would have collapsed, unable to go on.

This terrible experience has taught me a lot, perhaps most importantly to not judge people until you have walked a mile in their shoes. I have never before felt the need to express my grief publicly; I know what Kenley meant to me and what he still means to me. The closest I can come to describing the experience is to tell you that it’s probably like losing a limb — like my arm was severed and 9/10ths of my heart was taken with it.

I have been living 20 years with this deficiency.

Do people who have tragic accidents learn to cope and move on with living? Do people who lose loved ones move on with living? Do people who suffer severe trauma move on with living?

The answer is yes. They still have a magical cup of coffee, a sunset that makes them believe in God, a friend who picks them up and makes them smile, a husband who seems like a gift from God, a cat that wants its head scratched.

Every single person on this Earth manages to find joy in their day to keep moving forward.

Yet to be honest, I have stumbled through the past 20 years. I don’t feel as much as I would like because part of me is dead. I get angry that Kenley is no longer with me and my family. I cry when I see his friends who have children and realize I will never be a loving aunt to his children. I don’t feel like an only child because my early years were spent with a wonderful brother who was supportive, caring, loyal, funny, smart and fun to be around.

But I often do feel alone.

He was my mom’s little boy, my dad’s little hockey and baseball player. They were so proud of who he was — fiercely independent and confident.

We all ask ourselves, how did this happen? Why did this happen?

The problem is that we don’t have answers. This mystery remains unsolved. When his RA let me into Kenley’s room on that Wednesday 20 years ago, it was empty. He had $3,000 in the bank from tree planting — it was not touched. He did not have his passport. He did not take any toiletries. He did not leave a note.

I know he would not have simply left. I met with a psychic last year on several occasions (one of many over the years). She told me Kenley knew he would not live a long life. She told me he is no longer with his bones and teeth in the woods. While this mental picture is extremely disturbing it actually makes sense to me. I never believed that he just took off, or that he took his own life. I think he ran into the wrong person, or people, at the wrong time in the wrong place.

It took me a long time to say I think he is dead; the first time was 2011. I felt that if I said this it would mean I had given up hope. And for people with missing family members, there is always that glimmer of hope.

It has been an incredibly difficult, painful, heart-wrenching, and confusing time, but along the way my family has stayed strong. I am very close to my mother, father and stepmother. I still have my wonderful friends from high school who continue to reach out and help to ease the pain. I am still protective about Kenley and have a hard time when strangers talk about him or what we have gone through.

What I have realized, however, is that everyone can relate. All of the people in our town and community have their own memories of Kenley which are special to them. My only words of advice are to appreciate those you love, enjoy the small things in life and don’t waste your time judging others. Endeavour to see that most people are trying to do their best.

As my mom says, the past 20 years have been a roller coaster. She has been the most persistent investigator, advocate, and heroine in this story. She stood up for us when we were little and has stood behind her son since the day he disappeared. While she might not announce her role in this mystery, let it be known that there is not a day that goes by that she is not working to find answers. Despite every setback, she continues to be the light that leads the way.

My mother, father and stepmother all hope an answer will come, but realize we may never know what really happened on the evening of Sept. 20, 1992 at Acadia University.

I secretly feel that if everyone puts forth a concerted positive prayer or thought of peace maybe something will break in this mystery.

Many people will ask why it has taken so long for Kenley to be placed on the list of 63 unsolved Nova Scotia investigations.

Because of his age and adventurous tendencies I don’t think it was ever viewed as a possible homicide. But with the help of the RCMP, our investigator Tom Martin and my mother, it has finally happened and we, Kenley’s family, are ecstatic. It has taken a few years. Because Kenley was not a four-year-old child, it seemed he did not get the same attention at the time of his disappearance.

When something like this happens to a family there is no manual on the correct steps to take. Not for the family or, perhaps surprising, for the police. There is no team of “Criminal Minds” investigators who fly in to solve the mystery.

Although at the time of this writing I was shocked to discover that no-one had ever claimed a standing $150,000 reward for cracking one of the 63 unsolved Nova Scotia mysteries, two have recently been resolved.

I hope Kenley’s will be the next.

Kayrene (Matheson) Willis, a chemical engineer, married in 2003 and now lives with her familyin Arizona.

I am Sarah Kenley's mom. I want to thank all media,police and individuals involved in bringing attention to Kenley's disappearance in 1992. I so much appreciate the follow up of your kind words, prayers and comforting thoughts since always and especially since the release of his name on the DOJ site.